


some beautiful boy

by RonnieMinor



Series: floral prints and clashing colours [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieMinor/pseuds/RonnieMinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens like this: two boys meet by chance at a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some beautiful boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Godbriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godbriel/gifts).



> Biggest of big thanks to Winter, without whom this would have been impossible, and whose lovely Jehan/Parnasse fanmix provided me with the title from this fic ('When You Were Young' by the Killers). So this is for you! Also, credit where it's due to tumblr users Pembroke and Grantaires (for art and Jehan/Montparnasse, and 'Les Hipsterables' respectively). I've borrowed a few things from both of you - I hope you don't mind!
> 
> Anyway, I hope people like this. Sorry in advance for any characterisation flaws!

It happens like this: two boys meet by chance at a party. 

The frat house is a lit up like a fairground, music pumping out of the open windows and the sound of voices spilling out into the night. Inside, Grantaire and Bahorel are having a drinking competition, which Enjolras watches with a disapproving gaze. Combeferre is deep in discussion with a girl about women’s rights in the work place, while Courfeyrac - predictably - is chatting up the girl’s friend. Joly is leaning over the kitchen sink, convinced he’s got norovirus and is about to puke his guts up. Bossuet is giving him a back rub and fondly disagreeing, as well as keeping an eye on Feuilly, who’s drunkenly sprawled in the corner, muttering about Poland. And out in the corridor, Marius is listening Cosette talk with an expression of lovestruck awe. 

Meanwhile, Jehan makes his way through the crowds of people, heading outside in search of a quiet corner. The stars grow brighter in the darkening sky and he absently starts to compose a poem as he wanders through the garden. Sitting on a bench, he fumbles in his pocket for his pack of Sobranie Cocktails. He’s just got the packet open and is deciding between lilac and mustard yellow when a voice interrupts him. 

‘Got a light?’ 

Jehan looks up sharply and sees an unfamiliar boy. He’s dressed in ripped skinny jeans, a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders, and – to Jehan’s pleasant surprise – a t-shirt with a floral print inverted cross on it. And he’s pretty as morning in May, his lips pink and his dark hair glossy as a raven’s wing. 

‘Have you got a light?’ the boy repeats. Jehan gapes at him for a minute, then nods. He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out the engraved zippo that his friends got him for his last birthday. Then he flicks up a flame, holding his hand steady as the boy lights his cigarette. 

‘So how come you smoke Cocktails?’ the boy asks. ‘I thought only girls smoked those.’ 

Jehan is initially taken aback that the boy recognises his brand. Then he shrugs, lighting his own cigarette and taking a toke. ‘I like bright colours’, he says after a minute or two. ‘They make me happy.’ 

The boy looks Jehan over idly. ‘I can see that’, he says after a moment, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. ‘Nice shorts.’ He takes a drag from his cigarette, then sticks out a hand. ‘I’m Montparnasse.’ 

‘Jehan.’ 

‘Nice to meet you, Jehan’, Montparnasse says. He pauses, then opens his mouth like he’s about to start speaking again. The sound of a phone buzzing cuts him off. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cell and stares at it for a minute. Then he shoves it back into his jacket. ‘That’s my cue to leave’, he announces, standing. He gives Jehan once-over that’s almost palpable, grinning at the blush Jehan can feel creeping up his cheeks. ‘See you around.’ 

Jehan watches him leave with something like sadness. He spends the rest of the evening in the garden, smoking cigarette after cigarette and trying to think up good metaphors for the line of Montparnasse’s jaw. 

* * *

It takes less than two days for Jehan’s friends to catch on to the fact that he’s got a new crush. After that, he’s both teased mercilessly and endlessly pestered with questions as to the identity of his paramour. Jehan knows well enough by now though, not letting a single detail slip. He even goes so far as to keep all his poetry in his room. 

Try as he might, however, Jehan can’t keep the mysterious Montparnasse out of his mind. He scribbles haikus in the margins of his Philosophy notes and composes sonnets when he ought to be listening to his English Lit professor. And more than half the time, he just ends up staring out of the window, hoping he’ll catch a glimpse of Montparnasse’s slim silhouette. He never does. 

When they eventually meet again, it’s as much by chance as the first time. 

Jehan has spent the last two hours in a Comparative Lit class and feels a little bit like his brain might be about to explode. On automatic, he makes his way to the nearest café. Once there he orders an iced coffee with obnoxious amounts of cream on top, then sinks into a chair with a tired sigh. It’s a full fifteen minutes (and half the cream on his coffee) before he starts to feel like himself again. By the time the rest of the cream’s gone, he feels totally normal. 

Then Montparnasse walks through the door. 

Despite the fact he’s been waiting for this moment for the past two weeks, Jehan feels his heart start to race in something like fear. He wonders if he can manage to go unnoticed, but writes the notion off immediately. For starters, his chair is right by the counter. Also, there’s the fact that he’s wearing a fairly stunning colour combo. (His outfit consists of a bright pink Hello Kitty t-shirt, purple paisley shorts, sunshine-yellow scarf and vibrantly turquoise straw boater. Inconspicuous isn’t exactly his forte right now.) 

By comparison, Montparnasse looks sleek and collected. His blazer is black, emblazoned with faded looking floral print. His jeans are dark grey and sinfully tight, his black boots polished like mirrors. His dark hair is holding its shape despite the heat, pushed back from his forehead and emphasising his high cheekbones. He’s so beautiful that Jehan wants to be sick. And then Montparnasse sees him. 

A slow, sly smile spreads across his face, his expression implying that the cat has just got the fattest canary. He slinks over to Jehan, sprawling into the seat opposite with a careless grace. 

‘Well this is a pleasant surprise’, he drawls. ‘I was beginning to think you didn’t actually exist.’ 

‘Me too’, Jehan blurts. ‘I mean, that you didn’t exist, not that I didn’t exist. Obviously I exist.’ He sighs. 'I thought I’d dreamed you up’, he admits mournfully, throwing all dignity to the wind. 

‘I’m sorry you thought that’, Montparnasse says silkily. ‘But I’m not sorry you’ve been thinking about me.’ His gaze is hot, making Jehan feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. ‘Tell me, Jehan… have you been dreaming about me too?’ 

‘Would you like me to be?’ Jehan asks, curiously. Montparnasse shoots him a look that he interprets as confirmatory, and so he speaks without thinking. ‘Yes. I can’t get you out of my mind.’ Montparnasse’s smile widens even further. Jehan feels a shiver go down his spine, because there’s something just slightly dangerous in the other boy’s eyes. 

‘You look like you could do with a little fresh air’, Montparnasse says cajolingly. ‘Come outside with me.’ And Jehan finds himself picking up his things and following in the other boy’s wake, despite the prickle of unease at the back of his neck. 

Outside, they sit on a bench in the street. Montparnasse pulls a pack of Sobranie Blacks out of his jacket and lights up, his eyes still lingering on Jehan’s skin. Jehan fidgets under his gaze, fiddling with his hair ribbon and picking at a loose thread in his t-shirt. He doesn’t understand any of this – not the heat coiled in his belly or the way Montparnasse looks at him – but he doesn’t want to question it either. 

‘You know, you’re a strange little thing’, Montparnasse tells him. Jehan raises an eyebrow, feeling both overwhelmed and offended. 

‘You’re not exactly normal either’, he snaps. Montparnasse throws his head back to laugh, bright and mocking as a magpie. 

‘I never said I didn’t like it’, he says. ‘As you mentioned, I’m not exactly normal myself.’ He checks his phone, then stands. ‘Again, that’s my cue to go.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cupcake, one of the fancy ones from the café they’ve just left, sitting in its own little box so the delicate icing doesn’t smudge. He hands it to Jehan. ‘Proof that I’m not a dream. See you soon, I hope.’ Then he’s gone again, long legs carrying him off down the street, jeans hugging his ass like a second skin. Jehan doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s not staring. 

And when Montparnasse is out of sight, he stares at the cupcake instead, eyes tracing the lines of the beautiful butterfly decorating it. Montparnasse didn’t pay for it, he’s absolutely sure of that, and he’s not sure what to think. He’s never met anyone who steals before. Well, that’s not strictly true; half the frat has stolen something or other at some point. Nothing important though – just stuff from other frat houses, the odd street sign, and once (memorably) a chicken. Nothing like this. Nothing like shoplifting from a business just for the hell of it. The thought of it makes his heart beat fast in his chest, because even though it’s wrong, it’s also the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. 

He stares at the cake some more, knowing he should return it to the café. Instead, he takes it home, keeping it beside his bed until it starts to go mouldy and Joly forces him to throw it out because he’s worried about spores. 

* * *

The warmth of September has given way to October’s crisp autumn chill by the time fate conspires to bring them together again. At the frat house, Enjolras and Grantaire have got into yet another row about nothing. The house rings with the sound of raised voices and angry words, so Jehan throws on a sweater and heads outside, hoping to find a little peace somewhere else. He winds up at the park, watching clouds until a voice startles him out of his reverie. 

‘We really need to stop meeting like this’, Montparnasse says drily. ‘It’s kind of cliché.’ 

‘I guess’, Jehan replies, thinking fast. ‘Depends where you stand on the whole destiny thing.’ Montparnasse raises an eyebrow at him. 

‘I suppose it does. Personally, I don’t believe in any of that shit.’ Then he looks Jehan over with something like bafflement. ‘Jehan, what is that?’ 

Jehan looks down at himself. ‘What’s what, my sweater? What’s wrong with it?’ 

Montparnasse raises _both_ eyebrows and crosses his arms. ‘It has birds on it. Ugly birds.’ 

Jehan grabs the sweater and inspects it, in all its dark pink and yellow bird-patterned glory. ‘I like it!’ he declares stubbornly. Montparnasse shoots him a despair-filled look. 

‘Oh god, you’re not even wearing it ironically are you?’ 

Jehan shakes his head. Then he sticks out his tongue in a sudden moment of childishness and Montparnasse laughs just like he did outside the café, head thrown back like he hasn’t a care in the world. The line of his neck is long and white and Jehan wants to know what it tastes like; wants to know what Montparnasse looks like under those clothes. The strength of his desire takes him by surprise; makes him feel like the earth is shifting under his feet. 

Something of his feelings must show on his face, because Montparnasse looks at him strangely before taking a step closer. There’s barely a foot of space between them now and Jehan feels his heart start to beat fast, thudding against his ribs. A strange mixture of fear and anticipation settles in his stomach as Montparnasse’s grin turns predatory. For a second, Jehan feels the urge to run. But then Montparnasse’s eyes find his and he freezes, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Montparnasse’s grin stretches wider and wider as he looks down at Jehan. 

‘Do I scare you?’ he asks, and it rather seems like he’d like it if he did. 

‘Not even a little’, Jehan says defiantly. It’s nearly true. 

Montparnasse’s gaze takes on amused tone, almost like he knows Jehan isn’t being honest. ‘How brave you are’, he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear. ‘Like a little sparrow facing down a cat.’ 

‘I’m not nearly so drab as a sparrow!’ Jehan retorts indignantly, making Montparnasse laugh again. 

‘True’, he says. ‘You’d be one of those little foreign birds with horribly bright feathers in clashing colours.’ And Jehan would protest – he has his mouth open to speak and everything – but then Montparnasse reaches one large, long-fingered hand up to brush Jehan’s fringe out of his eyes… and he completely forgets what he was going to say. 

The smile Montparnasse gives this time is far less frightening and far more fond. His fingers trace gently along the curve of Jehan’s jaw, lingering there for a moment or two before pulling away. Just for a second, he looks like he’s about to say something. Of course, that’s the moment when Jehan’s phone starts ringing, Taylor Swift blaring out and oh _Christ_ why hasn’t he changed that ringtone already? 

He answers, but only because it’s Courfeyrac. 

‘So they’ve stopped fighting’, is the first thing Courf says. ‘You can come back if you want – I promise it’s safe.’ 

Jehan frowns. ‘Have they made up yet?’ Because if they haven’t, he knows from experience that it just means the fighting is going to start again at some point. 

‘Yep’, Courf says, popping the ‘p’. ‘It’s all hearts and flowers here. Grantaire’s offered to cook us all dinner.’ Jehan sneaks a look at Montparnasse, only to find him frowning at his phone. 

He sighs. ‘Ok. I’m at the park right now, so I’ll see you in, like, half an hour.’ 

‘See you then, dude!’ And with that, Courfeyrac is gone. 

‘So I should probably be heading back’, Jehan says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Montparnasse looks up from his phone. ‘Yeah, me too’, he says. He nods to his cell. ‘I’ve got a couple of things to take care of.’ 

‘You know, if us randomly meeting is a cliché, so is you leaving because of your phone’, Jehan snaps, feeling exasperated. 

Montparnasse’s laugh seems startled out of him, but it sounds real enough to make Jehan relax. For a long moment, they smile at each other like a pair of goofy teenage girls. Then Montparnasse reaches across and ruffles Jehan’s hair with what seems like genuine affection, saying, ‘Bye, little bird. I’ll be seeing you.’ 

The walk home doesn’t seem half so long when Jehan smiles the entire time. 

* * *

The next day, Jehan comes downstairs to find Eponine in the kitchen. As this is not a new occurrence, he merely says good morning and sets about making himself a cup of coffee. He’s a little surprised that she doesn’t return his greeting – they’re not exactly friends, but their acquaintance is amiable enough – but he doesn’t dwell on it for long. Instead, he sets to work on his coffee and the cinnamon bun he’s stolen from Courfeyrac’s cupboard. 

‘You know we fucked at the party, right?’ Eponine’s remark comes out of nowhere. Jehan is more than a little confused. 

‘I don’t think we did’, he says as nicely as possible, because he doesn’t want to be rude even if Eponine is clearly delirious. 

She laughs, loud and brittle. ‘Don’t be dense, Jehan. Of course _we_ didn’t fuck at the party.’ She looks him over, clearly surprised by the bafflement on his face. ‘You mean you really don’t know who I’m talking about?’ 

Jehan shakes his head slowly. Eponine raises her eyebrows. ‘Jack’, she says. ‘I fucked Jack in the bathroom at the party.’ 

‘Who’s Jack?’ Jehan asks, even though there’s a creeping sense of doubt that he knows _exactly_ who Eponine means. 

She looks at him pityingly. ‘Oh sweetie, he’s really done a number on you, hasn’t he?’ She rests her chin on her hand and meets his gaze head on. ‘I’m talking about Montparnasse.’ 

‘You’re lying’, Jehan says instantly, despite the way his guts start to tie themselves into knots. Eponine shakes her head. 

‘I’m not’, she tells him. ‘Although I wish I was.’ She sighs. ‘Look, me and Jack go way back – when we were younger we had a thing for a while. These days we’re just friends, but we still hook every now and again. At the party… well, let’s just say I wasn’t at my best. I did a couple lines of coke in the bathroom and then I was lonely, so I texted him. He found me and we fucked. And then we went back to mine.’ She shrugs. ‘I guess it wasn’t such a great idea, but I seriously doubt it’ll be the last time it happens.’ 

Jehan stares at her, transfixed and unable to speak, his stomach sinking like a stone. Then another voice breaks the silence. 

‘You did _cocaine_ in the _house_?’ 

Enjolras is standing in the doorway, his beautiful face livid with anger. A distant part of Jehan’s brain briefly thinks of the angel guarding the Garden of Eden, fiery sword in hand. He supposes that would meant that Eponine is Eve, but who is he in this metaphor? Who is Montparnasse? 

He zones out for a little bit. When he comes back to reality, Eponine and Enjolras are having a shouting match. Or rather, Eponine is screaming. Enjolras is as calm as ever, offering cold, biting comebacks to everything she says. Grantaire –who has appeared out of nowhere – looks ready to join the argument at any minute, which means that Enjolras may yet start shouting. He can see the rest of the house gathering in the hallway, wearing a variety of expressions – and if Combeferre’s face is anything to go by, he’ll also be weighing in on the argument soon enough. 

Then Courfeyrac catches his eye, mouthing, ‘Are you ok?’ Jehan shakes his head. Courf makes a beckoning motion and Jehan nods. Carefully, he inches around the opposite side of kitchen table to Eponine and Enjolras and sneaks out of the door. 

‘What happened?’ Courf asks quietly. ‘I’m guessing it’s not her doing coke in the bathroom that’s upset you.’ 

‘I don’t want to talk about it’, Jehan replies, sounding as miserable as he feels, thoughts of Eponine and Montparnasse spinning round and round in his head. Courfeyrac puts a comforting hand on his shoulder but he shakes it off, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. A lump forms in his throat. He turns, grabbing the first jacket he sees and heading out. The front door slams behind him, but he doesn’t look back. 

He walks without purpose, so it’s something of a surprise when he finds himself outside the college library. Still, there’s logic to it – words are what he’s most comfortable with, after all – and it seems as good a place as any to think. He goes in without hesitation, despite the fact he’s currently wearing an outfit that wouldn't look out of place on a homeless person: a pair of patterned TOMS with holes in them, tartan pyjama pants, and a jacket that might be Cosette’s over an old stars and stripes vest that definitely used to belong to Enjolras. 

It’s quiet inside, because only the seriously keen bother to study on Saturday mornings. Jehan gets a few odd looks as he makes his way to the poetry section; he’s so used to it by now that he doesn’t even notice. He just trudges up the four staircases to the poetry floor, head down and hands shoved into pockets. When he finally gets to the stacks, he gives a small cry of relief. He pulls out a volume of Tennyson’s poems, flips it open and sinks to the floor to read. 

Ten minutes later, he’s feeling a little less likely to burst into tears, but pretty miserable all the same. Typically, that’s when someone coughs to get his attention. He looks up to see fucking _Montparnasse_ standing over him. 

‘Jesus’, he says. ‘Are you ok, Jehan?’ 

Jehan stares up at him for a long moment. Then – in no uncertain terms – he tells Montparnasse to fuck off. Unfortunately, because Montparnasse is an asshole of the highest degree, he totally ignores this and slips into an almost elegant crouch next to Jehan. He moves to bridge the gap between them, but Jehan glares and smacks his hand away. 

‘Go _away_ ’, he hisses, conscious that they’re in the library. ‘I don’t want to talk to you!’ 

‘Why not?’ 

‘Just because!’ Jehan snaps. ‘Look, I know all about you and Eponine, _Jack_. So just leave me _alone_!’ 

At that, Montparnasse’s face goes completely cold. His jaw tightens and his eyes harden like stones. ‘That _bitch_ ’, he snarls. ‘I told her not to say anything!’ He shakes his head, looking even angrier than Enjolras. ‘I’m going to fucking _kill_ her.’ He sounds so murderous that Jehan shrinks back, fear running icy fingers down his spine. 

Montparnasse clearly notices this, as his face instantly softens. ‘I’m not actually gonna hurt her’, he says quietly. ‘I promise.’ He scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking much younger. ‘I just… I didn’t want her to tell you about us – about our history. When she saw us at the park yesterday I told her not to say anything, but she’s never been the type to listen to reason.’ 

Things begin to fall into place in Jehan’s head. ‘That’s why you left’, he says slowly, and Montparnasse nods. 

‘I went to talk to her.’ 

‘You mean you went to make sure she’d keep your dirty secrets’, Jehan retorts. ‘Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out? Or were you just hoping I wouldn’t find out until after you’d screwed me too?’ 

‘I was going to wait until you trusted me enough to believe it when I say none of that means anything!’ Montparnasse says, far too loud. An indignant ‘shhh!’ comes from somewhere in the room and he looks round sharply. ‘Shit’, he mutters. ‘I shouldn’t even be here.’ 

‘What, did you do the head librarian or something?’ Jehan asks crossly. 

‘I stole some books in freshman year’, comes the reply. ‘I’m banned for the rest of eternity.’ 

Against his better nature, Jehan is curious. ‘So how did you get in?’ 

‘I picked the lock on the back door’, Montparnasse says distractedly, looking around like he expects to be pounced on by angry librarians at any moment. ‘I had to talk to you. I figured here was as good a place as any.’ 

‘What, you just happened to be hanging around the library when I showed up?’ 

‘I followed you. I’ve been watching the frat house since yesterday.’ And Jehan’s treacherous heart starts to race, thumping in his chest like one of Grantaire’s awful drum and bass tracks. 

‘That’s a little creepy’, he says, but his tone isn’t nearly as cold as he’d like. Montparnasse grins like the total bastard he is. 

‘You’re the one who said I’m not normal’, he replies. Then his expression softens. ‘I had to make sure you were ok’, he murmurs. ‘I… I didn’t know what Eponine would do. I didn’t want you to get hurt.’ 

If anyone asks, Jehan will blame his romantic poet’s soul for the fact that he surges forward to kiss Montparnasse. He will blame Montparnasse’s lack of balance for the fact that they topple over. And as for his three month ban from library (for being caught sprawled on the floor with Montparnasse, making out like there’s no tomorrow)… that he will chalk up to the head librarian being a total prude.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback of any kind is super awesome/much appreciated!


End file.
